Dance of Masks
by boysloveboys
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive and his butler Sebastian travel to Venice during Carnevale to investigate the brutal and suspicious murder of an Englishman.
1. Chapter 1: Venice at Sunrise

**Note:** Trying something different... I'm not used to multi-chapter fanfics, so let's see how this goes. Haha. Please enjoy.

Just as a reminder, in the future I might stop posting fics on ffnet because it's a little too restrictive so please watch or bookmark my writing LJ (syn-drome at livejournal). :D

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**Chapter One: Venice at Sunrise**

The air was fragrant with the afterscent of rain, long since moved on from the midnight storm. A lone black carriage traveled a cobbled road alongside a canal, pregnant with extra water and nearing dangerous levels. The one looking out upon the murky lavender water seemed not to notice; it was all new to him. His pale skin was a glowing shade of rose, reflecting the blotchy dawn sky, but the look on his face was all darkness.

Ciel Phantomhive was here for business and not for pleasure; there was no time for aesthetic appreciation when murder hung heavy in the air.

"Sebastian?"

The one sitting across from him raised his chin to show he was attentive.

"Have you been to Venice before?"

"A few times, my lord," Sebastian replied. "A unique city, you'll find."

"It looks different," Ciel acknowledged, his black-gloved hand on the velvet curtain meant to shade the small window in the carriage door. The sun stole inside as a result, an atmosphere-dimmed beam shining directly on the face of the eyepatch-wearing Earl. "Smells different, even."

His nostrils flared instinctively despite the carriage being quite sealed, leaving only the faint perfume of the luxurious seating and a coolly masculine, subtle scent that Ciel recognized as Sebastian's.

Minutes of silence drifted by. The carriage's wheels spun to a halt on a particularly rocky stretch of road. Before it had come to a full stop, Sebastian was out of his seat, not waiting for the man to open the door for them. With one push of his hand, the door swung open, and he was out in the morning sun, the wind tugging playfully at his black hair and double-breasted overcoat.

His leather gloved hand reached inside with assured grace, the sort of model art students could spend days drawing. Ciel's own small hand, dressed in fine lace, fell into Sebastian's outstretched palm. Without any sign of clumsiness, he tapped one heeled boot down onto the step, and then the other onto the rain-broken street. Small rocks that had once been part of the cobbled street scattered at his steps, as if aware of who stood upon them. As soon as Ciel had his footing, he slipped his hand away from Sebastian's and stared at the building next to the carriage.

"A dreadful place to die," he remarked, his exposed eye taking in the decrepit stone walls, smudged with black stains and green blossoms of canal-born lichen. The narrow windows were covered, barred, or both. What had once been a modern building filled with desirable hotel rooms and ground-level shopfronts had decayed into the semblance of a prison.

"Indeed," Sebastian agreed. "Not the sort of place one expects high society."

Ciel started forward with a yawn—he hadn't slept much last night, since they had arrived in Venice just two hours before—and entered the double doors that led into a spacious foyer. In its glory days it must have been truly beautiful. A tarnished brass chandelier hung crookedly from the high ceiling, most of its candles missing or melted to mere stubs. An L-shaped counter ran against one wall, chipped along its surface and vandalized with scratches and carved names. The giant rug in the very center of the foyer was stained to near blackness, with puddle-shaped stains that could only stir uneasiness in any rational visitor.

All around the foyer, men in uniform stood about, a few smoking cigarettes and holding raucous conversation. They all seemed to pause, however, at the sight of the boy in the eyepatch and his tall butler. Only one of them—a near-middle-aged man in regular clothing, desperately in need of a fresh shave—came forward with a welcoming smile.

"Earl Phantomhive!" he exclaimed with a deep and overdone bow. Clearly he wasn't used to this. "We have been expecting you. Ciro Tosetti, the—"

"Venetian police commissioner," Ciel finished for him. "I was told to find you."

"And I am found!" Tosetti responded with a good-natured laugh. His accent was thankfully intelligible, and his English good. "To think something of this nature would happen in this city at this time..."

"Murderers do not take holidays," Ciel cut in. He walked past Tosetti, who smelled strongly of cheap tobacco and the faintest touch of liquor. Tosetti merely smiled and turned about, ready to lead the way for the young Earl. Sebastian fell into step behind them, and with the eyes of uniformed men watching them pass, they ascended a creaky wooden staircase to the next floor.

The hallways were in the same sorry state as the rest of the building. Wallpaper hung in tattered slumps and the rugs had been pounded into the dark wooden floorboards until they were difficult to discern from one another. Rusted room numbers lay neglected in seas of dust on the floor or hung precariously from red nails upon their doors. Not only did the floors creak as they walked over them, but the walls groaned as if the entire building would just collapse in on itself.

Tosetti stopped them at what had once been room _214_. A uniformed officer stepped aside for them, and as if he'd been a stopper in a perfume bottle, the unmistakable odor of decay greeted the Earl and his butler.

"One never gets used to such a smell," Tosetti mumbled, pushing the door open and gesturing Ciel and Sebastian in first.

Sebastian produced a fine white handkerchief and held it out to Ciel, but the boy waved it away. Despite Tosetti's comment, he was indeed used to it. Not immune to its nauseating pungency by any means, but he had done this many times before. He could—and would—manage.

The room was predictably quite dark, being on the opposite side of the building as the rising sun. The blinds were drawn across the two small windows on the far wall, with barely any light seeping in around the edges. The mint wallpaper was stained to a sickening swamp green, save for the neat rectangles where paintings had once hung. A bed was pushed against the left wall, its covers out of order and hanging half-on, half-off. Beyond the bed, on the rotting wooden floor, was a thick, dark pool.

Ciel moved further into the room, circling the foot of the bed until the source of the coagulated puddle of blood came into view.

A man, face-down with a blood-stickied mass of dark hair. He wore fine garments, those of a well-to-do gentleman. His skin was grayed and his eyes closed, decaying fingers curled up in positions unnatural to the living. Flies hummed nearby, landing on the corpse every now and then.

"Chester Hinds. Englishman."

It was Sebastian's voice. He too had come over, and stood behind Ciel to examine the scene. Ciel raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly, stepping carefully around the blood and toward the windowed wall to see the victim from a better angle. Sebastian took Ciel's former place and knelt down to take a closer look.

"It seems he was beaten to death," Sebastian added, taking in the visible bruises and blunt force skull wounds with unmoved eyes.

"It would explain the blood spatter here," Ciel acknowledged, looking closely at the wall beside the bed, where red droplets scattered like stars against the green paper. "Castoff. It must have taken a while to bring him down; he's not exactly a small man."

Tosetti peered on, nodding thoughtfully. "We have received some tips that he was in Venice for... bad business."

"How do you mean?" Ciel asked, turning away from the wall to look at Tosetti across the bed.

"He came to our city on premise of legitimate business," Tosetti explained. "This is what we have been told. But others say it was underground dealing. Black market type."

"Unsurprising," Sebastian said, earning a curious tilt of the head from his master. "His name has come up in previous investigations of ours." He looked up at Ciel, who was clearly not recalling the name in the least. "He was involved with Venere, for one."

Ciel's face turned at the vile name of his one-time kidnapper. "Drugs, then?"

"It would seem so."

"This is consistent with our tips," Tosetti added. "This Hinds moved back and forth between London and Venice very often for just such business."

"Did he have drugs in his possession?" Ciel asked, immediately setting his sights on the various drawers in the end tables and within the broken armoire near the door.

"A few," Tosetti said. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Opium. Cocaine. You are free to look and examine if you please. One of my men downstairs is keeping the evidence."

Ciel nodded and walked back around the body to Sebastian, who finally stood. His deep rubied eyes took in the entire scene quickly and in-depth; Ciel never worried about missing anything.

"My lord."

Ciel perked his head. Sebastian leaned over the foot of the bed, pushing down onto a thick fold in the messy bedcovers. With a noise of protest from Tosetti—perhaps from disturbing the crime scene—Sebastian peeled the covers back to reveal something white and strangely conical in shape.

"It's..." Ciel didn't finish, squinting at the odd object.

"A mask," Sebastian finished, plucking it from the stained sheets and holding it up. It was quite unusual, unlike the masks Ciel was used to seeing. Ivory in color and beaked in shape, with two circular eyeholes like spectacles set above the conical snout.

"_Il medico della peste,"_ Tosetti said. "The plague doctor mask."

Sebastian smiled knowingly, lifting the mask before his own face, its beak pointed to his own nose. He tilted his head back and looked it straight in its hollow, unmanned eyes.

"Welcome to _Carnevale_," he said.


	2. Chapter 2: Carnevale di Venezia

**Note:** Finally motivated to finish this chapter; it was longer than I intended it to be. Hopefully the third will be done soon. :D

Ciel runs into an old... _friend_. =u=

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**Chapter Two: Carnevale di Venezia**

Evening came. The horizon was a red gash in the indigo skin of the coming night, the last remnants of sundown painted on undersides of the wispy cirrus clouds. With Carnevale season going strong, many of the people about town were clad in unusual costumes and eerie masks, some plain and porcelain-white flawless, others gaudy and gilded.

Ciel and Sebastian stood beneath the shade of a vast portico lining one side of a civic building, and though notably unmasked, their pale skin mimicked the look quite well. Leaning back against a great marble column, Ciel sighed lightly, as if bored of taking in the foreign sight of the city. In reality, his eye sparkled with curiosity at this learning experience. The more one knew about his surroundings and the pawns within that setting, the better advantage they had at the game they played.

They had been on their way to investigate a certain acquaintance of Hinds's, a helpful tip from Tosetti. Sidetracked by the food and scenery, they stood here on the verge of nightfall, waiting for the hour of crime to rise.

"How do you like Carnevale, young master?" Sebastian asked.

"Eerie, I'd say."

Sebastian just smiled at Ciel, then again at a passing lady in a delicate rose-decorated mask and headpiece. Ciel scowled and tapped his walking stick against the stone, smooth from years of shoes wearing down the rough imperfections. He was about to walk away, impatient to leave the scene, when Sebastian shifted his weight; something about the slight motion made Ciel halt at once.

"Perhaps you'll find more entertainment once you participate," Sebastian suggested then, his eyes moving over the masked crowd.

"_Once_ I participate?" Ciel shot back, snorting at the idea. "Who said I would?"

Of course, Sebastian merely smiled again.

In the crowd, a man in a simple _bauta_ mask argued with a maskless young man, apparently over a pretty girl who stood off to one side watching helplessly; Ciel couldn't make out a word of the argument. Even cloaked in jealous rage, the language was colorful, lilting. Ciel had taken a few Italian lessons, but none that would help him in conversation here. So far they had had the good luck of running into English-speaking natives.

"Let's go," Ciel said, turning away from the argument as soon as the first punch was thrown. "I'm tired of this."

"As you wish."

* * *

Hinds's acquaintance was another Englishman by the name of Weston Roberts. Like Hinds, Roberts was wealthy thanks to his illegal dealings. Roberts, however, was younger, perhaps in his early thirties, and well-known as quite the dandy. The address written in messy scrawl—courtesy of Tosetti—led Ciel and Sebastian to an attractive and sprawling estate situated on the outskirts of the city where expensive carriages rolled confidently by. It was well above the run-down hotel that had been their first stop of the day.

This was not the home of Weston Roberts, however. The manor belonged to the wealthy Veronesi family, a close-knit clan whose numbers spread across Venice in nothing but esteemed positions. The house operated much like headquarters to the Veronesis, a gathering place and an excuse for massive, city-wide parties.

Tonight's specialty: a masquerade, appropriate given the way all of Venice was hidden behind masks at this time of year.

Roberts would be there. So would Sebastian and Ciel.

Dressing to blend in would perhaps work at any other venue, but everyone in attendance moved in gilded circles. Plain costume would stand out more than anything. Thus, the undercover Englishmen purchased only the finest for tonight's investigative ball.

Ciel was decked head to toe in delicate silver and white, like a snow-born prince. A diamond-studded, silver-wired mask—a modified _colombina_—covered only his cheek and right eye, shading the contract mark etched within his iris from view. His left eye was out in the open, feigning the usual haughty boredom of nobles. Bleached white feathers sprayed from one shoulder in an elegant flourish. Silver buttons led in two rows down the front of his jacket, and his shorts were perfectly pressed—thanks to Sebastian, of course. To finish the look, his knee-high boots sported silver-white ribbon as decoration, fluttering gently as he walked.

Sebastian was, as usual, an ink stain against the white marble of the Veronesi manor's interior halls. What _was_ unusual, however, was the quality and styling of his clothing. Tonight he was no longer a butler, and not even masquerading as a tutor. Tonight he was on equal level as his young master, dressed in a fine black gentleman's costume. His shirt was an ivory white, subtly textured, and decorated around the buttons with a pleated and masculine frill. Over it was a thin black ribbon tie, something more suited to Ciel, but not at all out of place around the butler's standing collar. Around his slim waist was an extremely low-cut black cinched waistcoat accentuated with golden buttons and trim. He too wore boots, though his were simpler in style, nothing but fold-close black leather, and without the heels that Ciel's sported. Upon his head was a black and gold tricorne, which connected like shadow to a smooth black _bauta_ mask painted with delicate golden ivy.

Indeed, Sebastian even looked a touch richer than Ciel for a change.

Sebastian's fingers, wrapped tightly in fine black silk, plucked two flutes of champagne from a passing butler's tray. He swung one down to Ciel, who took it, and kept the other for himself, taking a sip immediately. Whether a demon could truly appreciate a fine drink was Sebastian's secret.

"Do you know which one is Roberts?" Ciel asked, once they'd successfully become a part of the large crowd within the manor's great hall.

"Not yet," Sebastian replied, red eyes within the dark mask flitting around the room from face to face, and his ears alert for every touch of conversation that might give them a clue as to where the man of the evening could be.

All around them the masquerade was alive with noise and movement. Gentlemen out of their usual browns and blacks and sporting vibrant suits and capes of any color imaginable. Ladies decked out in their delicate jeweled masks and matching gowns, hiding behind expensive feathered fans. Beside Sebastian and Ciel, a group of fat middle aged women laughed loudly to punctuate their dirty gossip.

Among that gossip were the occasional whispers of murder. Sebastian kept his attention, sifting through what might help and what was simple noise.

There was the sudden scent of exquisite perfume, warm and amber, deep with vanilla notes. Accompanying it, a gorgeous darkhaired woman in fine blood red silk paired with black. She moved past the pair and into the crowd, her smile enigmatic and alluring underneath her _colombina_.

Whispers followed her like ghosts clinging to the trail of her gown.

"Veronesi," someone whispered with an awed smile. "Vittoria, the only daughter."

So she was the daughter of this fine house. Sebastian tilted his head slightly, thin lips perking on one side into a curious smirk. Ciel glanced at the lady, then at his butler. A frown crossed Ciel's face at that intrigued look in Sebastian's eyes. Ciel didn't find her that captivating, but apparently he was the only one in the room who didn't think she was that great.

Somewhere deep inside, he wondered if his apathetic opinion of such a fine woman was because he really _was_ a child, despite his mature demeanor. What a sour thought. He lifted his champagne flute to his frowning pout and tilted his head back to take it all in at once.

Before the empty glass came back down, Sebastian's head rose stiffly, and his eyes fixed on someone across the great ballroom.

"What is it?"

"I heard some mention of Roberts," Sebastian replied. He started forward. Ciel put the empty flute down on a nearby table and followed quickly, his heels clacking on the glossy marble floor.

The masked attendees were like a wall around Ciel. He could only follow the tall black figure cutting through the crowd with ease, but he quickly began to lose Sebastian. Pushing past tall gentlemen, he attempted to carve a similar path, but he was essentially nothing but a small child lost in a sea of adults. The black back serving as his guide faded in and out of his sight as laughing people washed past. The scents walled him in even more—heavy musk, freesia, unpleasant body odors, that familiar Veronesi vanilla, lavender.

And then Sebastian disappeared completely, lost behind a wall of solid white.

Ciel halted and stared up at the man blocking his path.

Oh, _no_.

"Ah, excuse me!" the man said. He was about to walk on when he double-took and delicately sighed at the sight of the similarly white-clad boy before him. "Ouh? What's this...?"

"Excuse me," Ciel said abruptly, attempting to push past the man. But the gentleman stopped him by grabbing his wrist, and with his other hand, pulled Ciel's chin up to face him. Ciel swallowed hard, gritting his teeth behind lips that were fighting not to twitch.

"Have we... met before, little bird?" the man asked, his half-faced mask doing very little to conceal his identity.

Oh, they had met before. Ciel preferred not to think of the vile Viscount of Druitt; only revolting memories of being drugged and caged up for sale cropped up in his mind. As flowery as he smelled, as smooth and beautiful as his white skin was, and as flowing as his flax-pale hair fell, Ciel wanted nothing but to get away from the nobleman. What on Earth was Druitt doing here in Venice?

"You're mistaken," Ciel managed to say. He pulled away, but the Viscount kept a surprisingly bruising grip on his arm.

"Oh, but I could never forget such an intriguing face as yours." Those long fingers, decorated in white lace, crept up toward Ciel's one-sided mask, running over the feathers. "Sweet young prince, pray tell me your name."

"I—" Ciel mentally groped for some excuse, something that would get him away from this unbearable man.

"Olivier," said a voice just past Ciel's shoulder. Druitt's amethyst eyes peered upward, widening in awe. Despite his faint recognition of Ciel, he apparently couldn't remember the butler, though admittedly Sebastian looked nothing like a butler—nor a tutor—tonight, and his mask was much more shielding than Ciel's.

"Eh...?" Druitt was apparently just as confused as Ciel was.

Sebastian bowed politely and smiled. "Excuse my intrusion; I merely thought to fill you in with an introduction. My young brother can forget his manners sometimes, as he is a little unused to such a large flux of society."

Ciel's head shot back to glare at the demon. _What is he on about?_

"I am Michel Séverin," Sebastian said then, his seductive voice—now lilted with a false French accent—making the lie quite comfortable, "and this is my younger brother, Olivier. Pleased to meet your acquaintance..." He trailed off expectantly; though he obviously knew who the Viscount was, he let him introduce himself as well.

"Ah, lovely!" the Viscount finally let go of Ciel and straightened his posture. "Aleister Chamber, Viscount of Druitt."

"I hope Olivier hasn't bothered you," Sebastian said, placing a hand on Ciel's shoulder to complete the brotherly image. Ciel stiffened up automatically, but soon calmed down again, playing along with Sebastian's ruse. He hung his head in a display of modesty, curling in toward Sebastian.

"Not at all," Druitt said with a charming smile. "What an enchanting pair you are. I daresay I haven't seen better costumes than yours all evening!"

"You are too kind," Sebastian said softly, bowing his head again.

"Come, come!" Druitt exclaimed. "This crowd is too mediocre for men like us; let me introduce you to acquaintances of mine."

Ciel didn't move, but Sebastian seemed to welcome the diversion. As Druitt led the way in his dazzlingly white tailcoat, Ciel hung behind and tugged on Sebastian's sleeve. Sebastian bent to the side, just enough for Ciel to get on tiptoe and whisper in his ear—in French, even, just in case Druitt happened to turn around and notice.

"What about Roberts?" Ciel hissed. "We don't have time to humor... _him_." The disgust was quite evident on Ciel's face.

"Relax."

It was Sebastian's only reply, delivered with a maddeningly attractive grin, and something about it was too cocky for Ciel's liking. Was Sebastian getting too used to his non-butler role? The boy planted his heels firmly down onto the floor once again and sulked along after Sebastian, glaring at him with every step.

With a flourish, Druitt came to a halt, his coattails swishing about. He pulled Sebastian in by his shoulder, toward a group of five other men, all masked and drinking various alcoholic beverages. Sebastian nodded politely, and the others returned the gesture. Ciel, in the meanwhile, was trapped next to Druitt, whose arm just happened to settle atop his shoulders.

If only looks could brutally murder... Ciel slowly glared sideways up at the viscount, setting his jaw rigidly to hold back his biting reply. Druitt only smiled at the group of men, who were in the middle of a conversation about business. And luckily for Ciel, it didn't seem to be any sort of _reputable_ business. Thanks to Druitt's leading them there, the men talked at ease, confident the newcomers were to be trusted.

"I don't like this city," a man in a plain white _bauta_ grumbled. "Things are getting weird. Like what happened just—"

"Chester's murder was merely a chance occurrence," a slender young man in a red and gold half-mask cut in dismissively. Smoothly sipping a glass of deep red wine and tucking back his pale brown hair, he continued in a smooth tenor: "Don't let it scare you. It's his fault for getting mixed up with the wrong clients."

"Ever the sweetheart, eh, Roberts?" another of the men, a redhead, chuckled.

Sebastian's eyes immediately flitted to the red-and-gold masked man, fixed on the target of the evening. Weston Roberts, at last. Druitt had led them straight to him.

"What's done is done," Roberts said with a light shrug.

"Tell us, Aleister," the redhead said then, turning to the viscount, "how's the current deal going?"

"Marvelously," Druitt replied. His fingers curled up against Ciel's neck, idly stroking at his collar. Sebastian noticed, but only smirked ever so slightly at his master's discomfort.

"And will you hold another one of your sales during your stay in Venice?"

"Definitely," Druitt said. He lowered his voice and looked around before going on. "In only a few days, at my townhouse. I've got the loveliest set of Indians this time around. I think their exotic appeal will steal the show here, at least; Englishmen are much less fond of such dark beauties..." He sighed sadly, squeezing Ciel's shoulder. "It really is such a shame to let such able bodies go to waste."

Sebastian finally voiced his input with a suggestive smile. "It must be easier to sell here in Italy, compared to in England."

"Indeed. The Queen and her mutts are making local sales annoyingly difficult." Druitt's grip tightened on Ciel's shoulder once more, though this time it was a decidedly unpleasant twitch to accompany the low turn his voice had made.

"Either way, let me know if you're interested in getting some of the, _ahem_, younger crowd to England," Roberts said, his eyes very pointedly set on Ciel. "Tosetti and the police here wanted the streets of Venice cleared up of orphans and runaways, didn't they? We can at least say we're doing our part."

The men broke out into cruel laughter. Sebastian put on his best smile, diabolical so as to fit in. Ciel, however, couldn't even feign amusement at such a terrible thing. Picking unwanted children off the street and using them for disgusting things like prostitution and organ trade... It hit too close to home.

"Ah, isn't she a beauty."

The comment broke up the laughter and Ciel relaxed finally, or as much as he could within Druitt's grasp. The air was filled with vanilla, and Vittoria Veronesi walked past, fully grabbing each man's attention. Unlike the last time Ciel had seen her, she had slipped her mask off, revealing a symmetrical and richly featured face. A long nose and captivating dark eyes, narrow and set a little slanted above her high cheekbones. They seemed somewhat old for her age, a trait Ciel could identify with. Her gently smiling lips were full, completing the image of a beautiful woman.

"You are enjoying the party, I hope?" she asked the group of men. Her voice was just as warm as her scent, deep and feminine. Met with unanimously affirmative replies, she bowed her head politely and smiled. "Please don't let me interrupt, then. Good evening."

It was all politeness, but the men were stunned into silence as she walked away again. Ciel watched her go just as the rest of them did, but his gaze was much different. There was something about that woman that intrigued him, but that something stayed just past his mental reach, slipping away from his fingertips. Was it the enigmatic smile or the old eyes? The sound of her accent, or even her scent?

It seemed Ciel wasn't the only one who was curious about her.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, gentlemen," Sebastian said then, "my young brother and I must find a few of our acquaintances."

"Leaving so soon?" Druitt whined, petting the side of Ciel's head. The sooner Ciel got away from this creep, the better; the feel of those silk-covered fingers running through his hair was absolutely abhorrent.

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, do come and see me this Tuesday next," Druitt said, referring to his sales event dressed up as a party. "Perhaps you'd like to bring a beauty or two home to France?"

"You shall see us there," Sebastian said with a grin. He bowed his head to the other men and walked off, holding his hand out for Ciel to guide him this time. Ciel took it gladly, and overcoming the resistance of Druitt's reluctant fingers, he and Sebastian were once more swept up in the masquerade crowd.


End file.
